


Share my secret

by derenai



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derenai/pseuds/derenai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy to be a gay footballer. Sometimes, Mesut feels like the pressure is going to kill him and he can't even talk about it. He's too afraid. But what if someone already knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share my secret

The alarm clock rang and Mesut let out a deep sigh before turning it off. He didn’t stand up, though, didn’t even open his eyes. It was one of these mornings where he felt so weary that he was left wondering if he would make it through the day. The very thought of going out, seeing his friends and lying to them as he had to was unbearable. And yet he stood up. He had no other choice. He could not skip training. At least it would make him stop thinking.

With another sigh, he stood up and walked slowly to the kitchen. It was as if he could feel the weight of his secret, pressing on his chest, making his whole body heavy. Only 24 years old and he felt like 50. It wasn’t always so bad, though, otherwise he couldn’t have coped with it. Most of the time, he could almost forget all of it and live normally. But some days, the loneliness, the fear and the lies kept creeping in his mind, gnawing at him, taking away all his energy, slowly destroying him.

It was no wonder he felt so bad that morning. The pain came from the evening before and had kept him awake most of the night. He had spent so much time with that girl, lately. They had dined together the day before, he had even kissed her. He was giving her hopes knowing he would have to crush them in a while. He hated this. But what choice did he have? He had to be seen with girls, he had to pretend to be like any other man of his age, or the media would start wondering. He couldn’t take the risk, even if it meant acting like a bastard. He had worked too hard to lose everything because he was different. And even without proof, he knew how quickly the rumour would spread and stick to his name, how there would be more and more insults and how they would hurt, how being himself would become a nightmare. He was afraid. Even after all these years he still had this feeling in his gut when he opened the newspapers or when his friends talked about sex or girls, this dread that someone could notice.

He left for training short after he finished his breakfast. When he arrived in the locker room, the atmosphere was relaxed, thanks to their comfortable win during their previous match. Pepe and Marcelo were laughing and acting like five-year-olds, as usual. Iker and Xabi were discussing tactics and Sergio was describing in a very detailed way every piece of clothing he bought the day before to a rather bored Sami. Mesut walked past them and changed in silence. In his good days, being surrounded by his teammate reminded him that he wasn’t alone; he was part of a team and deserved his place amongst them. That day, however, he was wondering how many of them would still talk to him if they knew. Maybe he was just over-dramatic. Maybe they would accept and support him. He wasn’t keen to know.

Once he was ready, the German followed his teammates on the pitch. He saw Cris, who greeted him, and they started to run side by side among the others. It felt good. Mesut would never admit it but since his arrival in Madrid it was Cris’ hard work and his sense of perfection that had encouraged him to train harder than he ever had. He liked the way Cristiano cared for him. Sometimes he even wished he could tell him everything because lying to Cris was painful. He’d never dared, though.

Mourinho was in a bad mood; either that or he wanted to make sure they didn’t take it easy after their last win. He had thus planned a very demanding session. Mesut took it as a much needed opportunity to forget everything beside football. Except it didn't work. He was too tired. His reflexes were too slow, his feet didn't move the way he wanted. In short, the session was a nightmare.

He tried not to look too relieved when it finally ended and he headed for the locker room. As usual, he messed around with his stuff to hide the fact that he was waiting for his teammates to come out of the shower to go in. He just didn't feel comfortable in there with all these naked bodies surrounding him. It wasn't that he was attracted to his teammates, well not by all of them anyway, but it just felt wrong to be there without them knowing what he was.

A hand on his shoulder startled him.

“Is everything ok?"

Mesut turned around to see Cris.

“Yes. Why?”

“You look tired."

"Oh… I didn't sleep well, that's all."

"It seems to happen a lot lately."

The German looked down, unable to hold Cristiano’s gaze. He liked the way the Portuguese was looking after him. It had helped him a lot when he'd arrived and everything was new and he'd felt a bit lost. But right now, it made Mesut uncomfortable. Cris always knew when something was wrong no matter how hard the German tried to hide it. It made him fear Cristiano could see through him. What if he knew?

“It's nothing. I'm all right. Don't worry."

“Well… If you need to talk… About anything, I’m here.”

The way Cris stressed that word, "anything", the way he was looking at him right in the eye made Mesut's stomach twist. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. He knew. Mesut started to panic, not because he didn't trust Cris, but because no one should know. Ever. Not without his consent, anyway. And if Cristiano had understood, it meant others could too. His worst nightmare could become reality.

But then Cristiano smiled, this true, soft smile he kept for his friends and family. And Mesut forced himself to calm down. He was just being paranoid. Seeing such an overtone in a simple word was ridiculous.

"Thanks," he finally answered, smiling back.

***

The match was difficult. They conceded a goal early, missed a few occasions. It wasn't before the second half that they scored. A cross pass from Mesut to Cristiano who put the ball in the back of the net. Joy and adrenaline rushed through the German's veins. With a bright smile, Cristiano ran towards him, took him in his arms and lifted him from the ground. Sergio, Gonzalo and Angel quickly joined them to celebrate and for an instant, Mesut felt free. He was living for these moments, for the roar of the Bernabeu, the feeling of accomplishment, the smile on his teammates' faces, the sensation of belonging.

In the confusion of the collective hug, Mesut felt lips kissing his neck. He shivered, trying to understand who did it. Then he realized Cristiano was still holding him tight, his head on Mesut's shoulder. It could only be him. Somehow, the realisation sent another shiver down the German's spine.

As his teammates ran away to take back their positions, Mesut's eyes met Cris'. There was something in them that tarnished the happiness, contrasted with his smile, something like the weariness the German saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. It wasn't the first time that Mesut noticed. It wasn't a surprise either for a man bearing so much pressure from the press, the fans and himself. Maybe that was the reason why Mesut felt so close to him even if they didn't talk about his secret or Cris' weariness. But the Portuguese had just scored. This sadness in his eyes didn't make any sense to Mesut. Or maybe it was linked to that kiss. Maybe Cristiano and he were sharing the same secret. It wasn't the first time that Mesut got this feeling, not the first time that Cris had some gesture towards him that made him wonder. And a second later, it was gone, leaving the German puzzled, not sure if he was right or only imagining things. He believed the latter was more likely though, because he felt so alone that he was presumably just transferring his own feelings on Cristiano.

There was no time for more introspection, however. There was a game to play. Mesut ran to take his position on the pitch and concentrated on what he had to do, forgetting everything that wasn't part of the match.

The joy of their equalizer was short lived. On a mistake from Pepe, their opponents scored their second goal. There wasn't much time left to take the lead. They fought as hard as they could. Hope came when Karim fell to the ground in front of the goalkeeper. The referee showed his yellow card. Cristiano prepared to kick the penalty. Mesut watched his ritual holding his breath and let it out in a sigh of disappointment when the ball stopped in the goalkeeper's hands. Everything went wrong from there.

Cristiano was frustrated; Mesut too because he felt he spent more time on the ground than running and the referee didn't say a thing; they were all rushing to get the ball, to get near to the goal, so much they made silly mistakes and ended up conceding a third goal. The final whistle was blown and they all went back to the locker room disappointed and angry at themselves.

The atmosphere was heavy. No one said a word. Again, Mesut busied himself until everyone was out of the showers. By the time he got dressed, he and Cristiano were the only ones left in the room. Mesut could see the tension in the Portuguese's shoulders. He felt bad for him. Cristiano practiced so hard, put so much pressure on himself to be a perfect player. This loss wasn't his fault, they had all played badly, yet Cris would feel guiltier than he should, arguing that things might have been different if he hadn't missed, knowing also what the media would say, especially as the season was so difficult for the team. Mesut had been in Madrid long enough to know that he should leave him alone in times like these yet he couldn’t help lingering. He liked Cristiano, a bit more than he should, to be honest. He wished he could help him the way Cris did with him. He wished he could take away the burden on his shoulders for a moment. He felt stupid for even thinking about it. They may be friends but Cris didn't really confide in him.

When Mesut finally decided to take his bag and leave, Cristiano looked up from the ground. There was so much disappointment in his eyes, so much pain and weariness, Mesut froze. For a moment, Cris looked ten years older than he actually was and again, the German felt this connection between them. He knew the tiredness that radiated from Cris’ being didn't come from the same reasons than his but there were still similar feelings. Mesut put down his bag again.

Without a word, he sat down next to his teammate. There was no point in saying anything. Cris knew he wasn’t the only player in the team and that they should have won despite his missed penalty. It didn't make things lighter, though. Just like Mesut knew he couldn't be the only gay professional footballer but that didn't make him feel less alone.

The Portuguese didn't say a thing either but didn't seem to be bothered by Mesut's presence. The German wasn't sure what to do. He'd never been good at comforting people and Cristiano could be such a mystery to everyone around him. The memory of Cris' lips on his neck came back in Mesut's mind. He thought about his hopes that his feelings could be mutual, feeling a bit stupid about it because how on Earth could Cristiano Ronaldo be attracted to him? But then again, Cris was just human, extremely talented and hardworking, but still a human being with flaws, secrets and feelings. And Mesut had lost count of the looks, the brushes of a hand, the hugs that had left him wondering. He didn't know where he found the courage to put his hand on Cristiano's but he did and the Portuguese didn't move away.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, still in silence, before Cris rested his head on Mesut's shoulder. It was almost nothing, a simple move, but the German knew he was privileged. Cristiano was too proud to show his weaknesses to anyone but very special people at very special moments. Mesut put an arm around his teammate's shoulders and pulled him closer. His thumb mindlessly stroked his arm and little by little, Mesut felt Cristiano relax.

There was something magical in this moment because, although they didn't talk, the German had never felt so close to Cris. He wished it could last forever. After some time, though, the Portuguese straightened up. His face was composed again, his shoulders squared, and Mesut knew the moment was gone.

"We should go", Cristiano said casually.

Mesut stared at him as he stood up and gathered his stuff. He knew that if he didn't do anything, Cris was going to act like this moment had never happened. It was his way of protecting himself and the image he wanted to give but Mesut couldn't accept it that easily. It was his chance to make him understand that coming out of his shell wasn't something to be afraid of, not with him.

"Cris?"

"Yes?" the Portuguese answered without bothering to look at him.

"You know… You know you don't have to be strong all the time, do you?"

Cristiano finally turned towards his friend, looking straight into his eyes.

"And you, Mesut, do you?" he asked soflty. "Do you talk to anyone when you're so tired and upset that you can barely make a pass at training?"

Mesut dropped his gaze. He hadn't realized he was asking of his friend something himself could not do. He was ashamed because he hated to lie to Cris but couldn't help it, couldn't bring himself to tell him. And suddenly the burden on his shoulders felt heavier, loneliness squeezed his chest tighter.

"I wish I could."

Cristiano took the three steps that separated them and hugged him. "And what if I already know?"

"What… What are you talking about?"

"You're gay, aren't you?"

Mesut tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart throbbing, he felt a cold hand grasping his chest. He'd always been so careful, what had given him away? Did Cris think he was disgusting? No, that didn't make any sense. He wasn't acting like someone who had a problem with him being gay. But what if someone else knew?

"How… How do you…"

"You're not as mysterious as you think you are. Not for someone who wants to see, anyway."

So everyone could know. Mesut felt dizzy, his breath was coming in short gasps. What if someone started a rumour? What if someone had proof? His life could turn to a nightmare. Why? Why wasn't he more careful? Why did he hope he could get away with it? It was all a lie.

"Shh, calm down," Cristiano whispered, holding him tighter. "It's ok. I'm sure no one else knows."

"But you… You do."

"Yeah… But I have reasons to."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm gay too, Mes. I tell the same lies as you so it's easier for me to see through them."

Mesut looked up. He was so surprised that he forgot his panic. Even though he had suspicions it was hard to believe. He had such a hard time fighting his fear that people were right, that being attracted to men made him weak and that a gay player couldn't be good. He still wasn't totally over it, to be honest. This thought still came back gnawing at him sometimes, after a particularly bad performance or when his secret was becoming too much to bear. But if the great Cristiano Ronaldo was gay then… Then none of this could be true.

Cristiano smiled and dried the tears Mesut hadn't noticed he was crying. The German smiled shyly back. It was such a relief to know he wasn't alone, even though they might never talk about it again. It would not make his life easier but in the dead of the night, when he was lying awake on his bed, his secret too heavy to bear, he would cling to this thought.

Mesut's tears were long gone now but Cris was still stroking his cheek. It was only then that the German became aware of Cristiano's body against his, of his face so close. He could feel the tension between them and the desire building up inside him. And finally he dared to cross the short distance between them to brush his friend's lips with his. The contact sent a shiver down his spine. He was more or less expecting Cris to push him away but he didn't, so Mesut kissed him more firmly. He traced his lips with the tip of tongue and moaned when Cris opened his mouth to let their tongues meet.

The German didn't have much experience with men apart from a few experiments as a teenager. He had soon understood how his sexual orientation could threaten his career. So today was the first time he kissed a man he had feelings for. He didn't remember feeling so alive for years. And in that moment he didn't care if it was wrong or right, didn't care that someone could open the door and see them. All he could think of was Cris' taste, the softness of his lips, his tongue against his.

It all came back when Cris broke the kiss. The fear, the doubts. Eyes closed, Cris leaned his forehead on Mesut's and breathed: "I don't think it's a good idea."

The German's heart sank. Silently, he watched Cristiano take his bag and head to the door.

"Why?" Mesut finally asked in a croaked voice.

Cris stopped but didn't turn to face his teammate. He took a deep breath before answering. "Look at you, Mes. You're so tired of hiding. So can you imagine hiding this? Do you think a healthy relationship can go with playing hide and seek with the media, the team, our friends… Basically everyone? Do you even think it's really possible to hide something like this? We'd get paranoid. It would only… Destroy us."

Mesut didn't answer. He tried to imagine the life that Cristiano described. He tried hard. He saw how the little tricks to meet without anyone noticing would be exciting at first and quickly become tiring; how the need to keep their distance in public could turn them cold to each other; how the desperate longing to do what every other couple did would drive them crazy. He understood the suffering it would bring. But it also meant so much more.

"Don't you ever feel lonely? Don’t you think it could be worth it?" Mesut asked.

Cristiano's shoulders fell slightly. He wouldn't admit it but the German knew he touched a nerve. In a sudden rush of tenderness Mesut walked to his friend to wrap his arms around him but stopped at the last moment. So he just stood there, right behind his teammate, waiting for him to say something.

"I can't," the Portuguese finally whispered. "I'm sorry, Mesut."

The German squeezed his eyes shut. He'd never hoped before. And now, just for a moment, he'd thought he could have someone at his side, someone with whom to share his life, someone to love. He felt crushed.

He heard Cris walk away but didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to cry, not here.

When he came home, he was too weary to make it to his bed. Instead, he fell on the couch and curled into a ball. He couldn't take his mind from what Cris had said. Again, he tried to imagine what having a relationship with a man would mean. He imagined how the fear would double because he'd be afraid for both his and his lover's careers; how hard it would be to hide their feelings; how the slightest mistake could give them away and destroy them. He already knew how easy it was to forget the risks. Anyone could have seen them in the locker room. Slowly, he understood that Cristiano was right. He already knew it, anyway, or else why would he have stayed away from any relationship since his teenage years? But hearing it from someone else made the whole thing more real. Being pushed away by Cris had crushed the little hope he had left. He felt lonely, so lonely he thought his chest would implode and he knew the feeling would never fade away. It would gnaw at him, killing him slowly. He was already so tired. He closed his eyes and finally allowed himself to cry.

***

Mesut's eyes were glued to the TV screen as he flipped channels without finding anything interesting. Two days away from the pitch and he already missed playing. He could only blame himself, though. In his desire to make up for his slow start of the season, he pushed too hard. He'd realised he only existed through football. He'd understood his private life would never bring him anything, not until the end of his career, maybe not until long after his retirement. Football was everything he had, everything he was.

He sighed. It would be two or three more weeks like this. He had to find something to keep himself from thinking or he was going to break down. He didn't want to see anyone, though, and wasn't in the mood to do anything.

He was roused from his thoughts by the doorbell. He forced himself to get up and found Cris on his doorstep. "I thought you'd be hungry," Cris said, showing a bag full of Chinese food.

Mesut stared at him for a moment before letting him in, trying to look less miserable than he felt. They'd never been alone together since they'd kissed, three months before. They'd come closer, though, because of the secret they shared, even if they never talked about it. Mesut had been hiding for too long to bring the topic and open up about it. And Cris had never confided in him. In a way, it was easier like that.

Mesut didn't really know why he was surprised to see Cris on his doorstep. The Portuguese had always looked after him and become even more caring. He had a way of knowing when the German felt down and to support him with nothing but a smile and a gentle look. He always made sure that Mesut was involved in everything their teammates organized off the pitch to let him feel that he belonged to the group. And that was what Mesut needed, exactly like this unannounced visit.

They sat down at the table and started to eat. At the German’s relief, they didn’t talk about his injury. Instead, Cris told him about the training he had had earlier that morning. They laughed about Marcelo’s latest prank on Luka and Sergio who accidentally kicked the ball on Mourinho’s head.

Long after each food box was empty, they were still talking about everything and nothing. It was nice to talk with Cris, it was easy. He didn’t mind using the wrong word because he knew Cris wouldn’t tease him too much, unlike some of his friends who didn’t always know when to stop and ended up hurting him unintentionally. He didn’t mind the silences because they weren’t awkward. But most of all, Mesut didn’t have to lie. He didn’t have to be careful about what he said. Even if they didn’t talk about their homosexuality, it was a great pressure taken away from him. He wasn’t afraid. For the first time in years he could talk with someone without the dread of an uneasy topic, a lie not convincing enough, gnawing at the back of his mind.

Eventually, they played video games for a while. Mesut won everything. Cris was grumpy and the German teased him. He didn’t remember feeling so relaxed since his childhood. Being so comfortable around someone. Deep inside, however, he was wondering how long these moments with Cris were going to last. How long could two men knowingly attracted to each other remain good friends before things started turning awkward? Before spending time together started to hurt?

***

It had been two weeks since his injury. Mesut was bored to death. The only thing he wanted to do was playing football but he couldn’t. And it hurt. He missed the team, the Bernabeu. He missed training, playing, feeling alive. To make things worse, he’d watched every match and they’d won them all. Without him. It wasn’t that he wanted them to lose but they were winning so easily. It felt like he’d never been part of that team. They didn’t miss him. They didn’t need him. Football was everything he had and his team didn’t even need him. Maybe they wouldn’t want him anymore at the end of the season. It would hurt so much, not being good enough. Then he would have to start all over again, adapting to a new team, making new friends hoping none of them made too many homophobic jokes. Away from Cris. It would be so many efforts, so much suffering, he wasn’t sure he could manage it. To be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could manage another day.

He should have called Cris but he didn’t dare to. Talking would do him good but it meant overcoming his fear, getting out of his comfort zone and he didn’t have enough courage. Besides, he felt weak and pathetic. He was too ashamed. Maybe he could pay Sergio a visit, just to prevent his thoughts from gnawing at him but he was too afraid his friend could see his sadness and ask questions. So he just lay there, on his couch, doing nothing but thinking about everything that was wrong in his life.

He startled when the doorbell rang, hesitating to answer. He did, eventually, seeing this as a way to break his bad spell. He made his best to regain composure and opened to door to find himself facing Cristiano.

Mesut tensed slightly. He knew he wouldn’t fool him for long with his fake smiles. All these years spent acting like someone else yet he couldn’t deceive Cris. He could already tell the Portuguese knew something was going on from the way he hugged him a little tighter, a little longer than usual. He didn’t ask him how he was doing. Instead, he put the plastic bag he was carrying on the table and sat down on the couch, making a detailed report of every silly thing their teammates had done during training in an obvious attempt to make him laugh. Mesut didn’t, though. He could only bring himself to smile softly.

For the first time, the silence that settled between them was uncomfortable. The German knew he should have found something to say but couldn’t think of anything. Except how much he needed Cris to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay and at the same time, how he was afraid he would. He was going to suggest a game of virtual football to end that awkward moment when Cristiano said: “Cris asked about you this morning.”

“Really?” Mesut asked, frowning. He’d never been comfortable with children. So he wasn’t thrilled to see his son a few days ago when Cristiano invited him for lunch. Cris Jr seemed to like him, though, so Mesut had to play with him. Cristiano’s gaze on them hadn’t made it easier but something in his genuine smile had reassured the German.

The Portuguese was wearing the same genuine and gentle smile now. Except, there was something different in his eyes, something like sadness and concern. “Yeah,” Cristiano answered softly. “He wants to play with you again. I think he likes you. You should come over soon.”

Mesut looked away, unable to hold the Portuguese’s gaze. He liked the way Cris cared for him, the way he looked at him sometimes but he hated it too. It was all too much, imagining everything that could be and yet never would. He was regretting answering the door now. He didn’t want Cris to see him so miserable.

“What’s wrong?” the Portuguese asked softly.

“Nothing.”

“Mes… I know that’s not true. You look so tired.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s not because I’m playing too much,” Mesut answered, not as light-hearted as he wanted to.

“You’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The German couldn’t help but snort. Cristiano’s eyes widened, filled with worry. “What? Have you received some bad news?”

Mesut closed his eyes. For a moment, he considered asking Cris to leave. As much as loneliness hurt, it was more comfortable, in a way. It didn’t involve opening up and breaking the walls he’d built over the years. His fears seemed so stupid when he was trying to find words to explain them. But if he kept pushing Cristiano away, loneliness could kill him.

“No,” he said eventually. “No, it’s only… What if I don’t play?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re doing well without me.”

“Mes… We may be winning but it’s not the same without you. Don’t think of yourself like that. We need you.”

For the first time, Mesut didn’t believe him. He wasn’t good enough to be irreplaceable on the pitch, not charismatic enough for his absence to be felt in the locker room. He might never be that player. He had a lump in his throat but he didn’t want to cry.

“You know it,” Cris added. “You know you’re good and el Mister trusts you. A torn muscle won’t change anything. Why are so scared?”

Mesut didn’t answer. The walls he’d built to protect himself were too thick. He startled slightly when Cris stroked his cheek and looked up to see his friend’s eyes full of concern. “I’m worried about you, Mes. You can’t go on like this. Keeping everything to yourself. One day it will be too much and… I’m afraid of what could happen.”

Mesut closed his eyes. He knew what Cristiano meant. He’d already thought about it. Giving up wasn’t his kind but there were times when he felt like nothing was ever going to change, when the pain and the fear were suffocating him and he saw no escape, no chance of being happy one day, and giving up suddenly became tempting. Cris was right. He had the choice of breaking these walls he’d built or letting them close in on him and crush him.

“I want…” he began with a croaky voice. “I want to be perfect. I want… the team to need me and the other clubs to fear me and the fans to admire me. I want to be important for them because… I’ll never be important for anyone else.”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

Cristiano wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and drew him closer. “You don’t need to be in a relationship to be important for someone. You have a family and friends who love you. You don’t need a boyfriend to be a great person. And you certainly don’t need to be the best footballer on Earth.”

“Says the one who trains harder than anyone else and can’t stand missing an occasion.”

“Yeah… I never said I didn’t have my own demons.”

The seriousness in Cristiano’s tone made Mesut’s heart sink. He thought about all the times he saw that weariness in his eyes. He was suffering too and the German didn’t have a clue how to help him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t lift the burden off his shoulders. He couldn’t change the world. All they had were moments like this, a hug and a few comforting words.

“Tell me it will get better, “ Mesut whispered.

“It will. You’ll find your place even if you can’t totally be yourself. Then one day, you’ll be doing something where no one cares about who you love.”

“Do you mean it? Do you really think we can be happy lying to everyone, being afraid someone finds the truth?”

“We can try. That’s the only choice we’ve got.”

Mesut hid his face in Cristiano’s neck and wrapped his arms around his waist. The Portuguese was gently stroking his hair. Finally, Mesut was glad that Cris had come. It felt good to know someone was there for him, to let go and be himself. It was the peaceful and quiet moment he’d needed for years. In Cristiano’s arms, he finally felt human again.

The silence stretched but they didn’t try to break it. They were enjoying the moment, forgetting everything else, knowing that they wouldn’t know such a deep feeling of comfort and peace often.

After some time, though, Cris dropped a kiss on Mesut’s hair and muttered: “We’re destroying ourselves anyway, aren’t we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always thought… Being in a relationship with a man wouldn’t bring any good. That hiding would be so hard it couldn’t work and would only tear us apart. But the more I think about it… It hurts anyway.”

Mesut tensed. He didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to understand what Cris was saying. Not now that he’d finally got used to the fact that remaining single for the rest of his career was the most sensible thing to do no matter how hard it was. Not now that he’d finally given up all hopes.

“What… What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m 28 and I’ve never been in a relationship with a man. I’ve let the fear control my life until now and… I’m starting to wonder if it’s right. If I’m not letting something pass me by.”

The German squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been ready to try three months before when they’d kissed in the locker rooms but now… Now he was afraid. He’d thought too much about what Cris had said. He’d become utterly aware of how easy it would be to get caught, how the pressure of their secret could make them hurt each other and destroy themselves.

He finally opened his eyes and sat up, staring at Cris. He couldn’t believe the Portuguese cared so much for him he was ready to overcome his fears for him. But could he do the same? Three months before, in the spur of the moment, it may have been possible but now… He didn’t know anymore. He’d been afraid half of his life.

Cristiano understood before Mesut opened his mouth. His gaze dropped to the ground and suddenly, looked so old again. So tired.

“I’m sorry… I… I can’t.”

Mesut could see the waves of sadness in Cristiano’s eyes, the way his shoulders slightly collapsed. He could almost hear his heart shatter and the tiny little piece falling on the ground. And then it was gone. Cris sat up, a soft smile on his lips. “Don’t be. I understand.”

The German stared at him. He’d always wondered how Cris managed to conceal his feeling so well, to be stabbed in the chest and only show a composed face. His smile hurt Mesut more than anything else.

“I’ve brought chocolate cake for you. Do you want some?” the Portuguese asked cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. As if Mesut hadn’t just broken his heart.

Without waiting for an answer, Cristiano laid the table and cut two generous slices. Mesut joined him, listening silently to his friend doing the talking, nodding from time to time. He couldn’t take his mind from what had just happened. How miserable Cris had looked for a few seconds before putting on his mask. He wondered what else he was hiding behind this façade. How lonely and fragile he truly was. His true self was a mystery to Mesut and he wished he could scratch this shield, see what lay beneath, meet the real Cris. Was there even one person who really knew him?

The German picked at his cake. He wanted to help Cris but he was only letting him down, hurting him. He couldn’t bear the thought of causing him so much pain. He couldn’t bear to imagine everything they could have been if the circumstances had been different. If he hadn’t been such a coward.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt Cristiano’s arms around him, pulling him closer. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I told you. I understand.”

“But you deserve so much better.”

“It doesn’t matter what I deserve or what I want. You have the right to be scared and to think it’s not the right thing for you. Don’t feel guilty about it.”

Mesut rested his head on Cristiano’s shoulder. The Portuguese gently stroked his back and Mesut slowly calmed down. And yet that hug was bittersweet. Mesut wasn’t sure he would be able to watch himself in the mirror anymore, thinking of everything they could have had together if he’d dared fight his fears. And what about those nights, when he felt so lonely he thought it could kill him? How would he cope, knowing he’d had a chance to be with the man he loved and turned it down? Wouldn’t that destroy him more surely than the risk of getting caught?

“Do you really think it’s possible?” he whispered.

“Honestly… I have no idea. But I know we’d do everything to make it work.”

The German slightly pulled away from Cris to look at him. He knew he was right. Letting his fears control him could make him miss chances of a lifetime. And that could be one.

Slowly, Mesut leaned closer, until his lips met Cristiano’s. The Portuguese let out a moan, put a hand on his neck to deepen the kiss and Mesut forgot everything.

When they broke the kiss and Cristiano smiled, a true honest smile that lightened up his face and his eyes, Mesut knew he had made the right choice. His fears hadn’t vanished. He knew that being with Cris wouldn’t erase the pain and difficulties. But they would fight together. And despite the ordeals and secrets, they would build their safe place and enjoy every moment of happiness they could get.


End file.
